Interrogation
by salmon000001
Summary: He's been in interrogations many times before, only this time he's sitting at the other side of the table. One-shot. Warning: Character death


Disclaimer: If I owned NCIS do you think I would be writing fanfics or the actual scripts.

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Interrogation.

The gray haired man sat at the table. The harsh lights in his face almost blinded him, and the only thing that decorated the rooms concrete walls were dents and blemishes, originating from years worth of use. He had been here before; many times in fact, although this was the first time that he had sat at this side of the table, facing to two way mirror in front of him. A man walked in through the door to the right of him but he didn't recognize him. The man was middle aged, he wore a dark navy suit, a little to loose, and his brown hair hung into his face. The man carried a file in one hand and slid into the chair opposite, throwing the file down on the table casually. The trying too hard type of casual. Gibbs almost smiled. Did this man actually think he could make a special agent at NCIS for 16 years now actually confess? Because both men knew that was the only was they would get a conviction, the forensic evidence was all circumstantial at best. The older man knew all the ways of resisting interrogation; concentrate on something in your head, tap your fingers on the table in a rhythm to throw the interrogator off, and don't make eye contact. Those were the main three. The other man was probably FBI or a very distant branch of NCIS. Most of the people here were probably fine with what he had done, and might even have done the same themselves, had they been in his shoes. They would certainly understand.

There had been a bomb go off at the crime scene they were investigating. All of his team except him had been caught in the blast. He had gone a little further into the woods, away from the dead body to check something out, when he had felt the earth shake under his feet, and he felt heat at his back and lost his hearing for a few seconds with the amount of noise that had been produced. And he had turned to find destroyed trees, charred earth, and……no-one alive. The bomb had been planted in the body so all three had been at the center of the blast. Luckily, Ducky and Palmer hadn't arrived at the scene yet. Ducky assured him that they had died quickly, but he didn't care. Gibbs was a practical man, he believed in doing. His team had been like his family, especially as he had very little family left. The sorrow and loss of losing his new family, if a dysfunctional one, was more than he wanted to bear. But he had had to, if he wanted to find their killer, and so he had. He buried himself in his work, finding the bomber.

The first time he had walked into Abby's lab after they had died, she had absolutely refused to believe it at first, before falling into his arms, hugging him tightly, crying. He held her close stroking her hair, as she grieved and whispered in his ear that she just wanted them back. It took him 4 days, with the help of Abby and Ducky, to find the bomber. Gibbs had finally gotten the mans address and he had picked up a unregistered gun from his house. He wasn't stupid enough to use his SIG from work. The man opened the door; the special agent brought up his gun, mentally compared the man to the picture Abby had shown him, clicked the safety off and squeezed the trigger. If he had turned the man in, he couldn't have been sure that his team would have gotten justice, the man might have walked. But in acting as he did, he had made sure the man had gotten his comeuppance. Gibbs had gotten his justice. Or was it revenge? He was finding it hard to tell the difference, maybe it was a mixture of both.

The FBI had no proof he'd done it, although everyone knew he had. He sat through the interrogation, as the interrogator tried to convince him to confess, slamming the table a few times and prowling around in his blind spot. After 12 hours, he walked out of the door, still a free man. The pain of their deaths, almost leaked out from behind his mask, the one he had taken to wearing on his face, a neutral expression to hide the pain. He remembered his team. Ziva, with her constant death threats and terrible driving. A once cold hearted assassin, now a passionate investigator at NCIS, she had opened up over her years at NCIS to show another side of herself. McGee, a computer genius who had come out of his shell, to show everyone what he was really made of; and Tony. Tony, a man in whom he had seen many of the qualities he had had when he was younger. Whom he had come to think of as a son.

But it was all gone now.

He didn't know what he would do with his life now; he couldn't take on another team after the brilliant one he had had. Maybe it really was time for him to retire this time. To leave this place that had once held a kind of gruff happiness for him, but now only held the faces of the many dead Jenny. Tony. Tim. Ziva. The list went on and on, even longer for people he wasn't immediately close with. Yes, it was time to leave. His eyes closed, he was just so tired of it all. I don't know a special agent Gibbs anymore, he thought. I'm just Jethro. I want my team back. I want my family back. God, I miss them.

Finis


End file.
